


In Guns We F---

by applebuckets



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Gunplay, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applebuckets/pseuds/applebuckets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"America jostled himself from his thoughts, blinking rapidly. Thankfully only England noticed him not listening during the meeting, who was mouthing to him to pay attention and jabbing at his own notes. He tossed an apologetic shrug to the older nation and was sure it looked completely insincere, but at the moment he didn't care.</p><p>Because apparently he could picture himself banging that commie.</p><p>Ex-commie."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Guns We F---

**Author's Note:**

> (( Hello, there. This is a very old exchange fic for Onikotsu at the livejournal RusAme community. It used to be hosted in FF.net under a different penname until it was purged. I couldn't bother putting it up but decided to raise it from the grave and place it here instead. I apologize in advance that this is still un-beta'd so please bear with me on any mistakes. And I also must warn you on my run on sentences and weird paragraph spacings and oh, let me go on with this fic. 
> 
> Just in case the tags were glossed over... WARNING: Gunplay. ))

 

 

With the economy struggling, his political parties going at each other, the pressure on the war, and now with this Wikileaks showing up in the news... America did not think he had time to contemplate on anything else, like his sex life, especially this early in the morning during breakfast time. But a hickey on Canada's neck unraveled a few discussions shared among him, his twin, and his two elder "brothers".  


While it seems that England and France still may be in their "on" stage of their off and on relationship of sorts (Not quite a friendship, but not quite a rivalry either. America thinks what these two nations have may be in a category of its own), even Canada was getting some on the side, leaving America by his lonesome. Not that he was some sort of a 400 plus years old virgin-- he's had his share of affairs, both nations and civilians. But lately, there had been very little time to explore a relationship outside of his busy schedule (others had found it hard to believe the amount of work America has on his plate, would keep forgetting it with the way the young nation would put up a front of a carefree, and sometime idiotic personality). And though there were always "quickies" he could count on with a few nations in mind, America somehow couldn't find the motivation or the want to even try to get in touch with the said few.  


"How about someone new? You don't really try to break out from your group of fuck buddies." Canada supplied helpfully, soaking a piece of pancake into a puddle of syrup. He chuckled at America's sputtering. "I just think that maybe you might be bored of the usual, eh?"  


America plopped his chin on his palm as he grumbled into it. "I guess..."  


England cleared his throat while he cut speared his fork into his eggs. "It could be beneficial for you. A chance to get to know more of others... exploring their culture and strengthening ties. Goodness knows you certainly need to shape up with the way the world thinks of you now."  


Before America can even protest in his defense, France butted in, grasping America's hand into his. "It would help alleviate some of the stress you are carrying on those poor shoulders of yours."  


America blinked. "Wait, how-"  


"Oh, why do you look surprise? Big Brother always know!" He ended with a wink, patting America's hand before looking around the food court for prospective nations.  "Now! Let us see who will the lucky nation be..."  


"You know, it would be nice if you and Cuba could get together." Canada piped up with a smile, only to slightly fall away as America shook his head with a resigned look. "You could at least try... He's actually really nice."  


"...It's a little complicated than that." America muttered as he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

  
"It would be best if we could continue this discussion in the conference room. We might have, if we hurry, twenty minutes to scrounge up a list of candidates. Perhaps even a category for their pros and cons and.. why are you two staring at me like that?" England blinked, pausing momentarily in his planning. The twins gaped at him in a stupefied manner, and his bushy eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. "...what?"  


America shared a look with Canada as he tried not to laugh. "Arthur. Dude. I'm just looking for someone to fuck. This ain't no idol contest we're having."  


"Well, pardon me for trying to help!" England scowled even further as he viciously dug into his eggs.  


"Why don't we have you focus on someone you're trying to get better relations with instead?" Canada remarked after a brief moment of awkward silence.  


At that moment, France's eyes widened as he finally spotted someone. He quickly nodded, patting America's hand to get his attention. "I agree with _Matthieu_. And I know exactly who it should be... Russia!"  


It was instantly quiet on their table, their heads turned around as one to look at where France was staring at. Sure enough, Russia was some ways across them, coat fluttering slightly as he manuevered his way easily in the crowd. It didn't look like Russia would be eating in the food court along with the others, however, so the four settled on watching the large nation leave until he was gone from their sights.  


France had an encouraging smile on his face, despite the lack of support for his suggestion. Canada seemed to pale even more than usual, gaping at them. England kept his scowl and was steadfastly staring down at his breakfast plate. And America...  


America had an incredulous look on his face. But France could see just the barest hint of curiosity in that expression. That encouraged him to press forward with the idea.  


"Hrm. I don't know about that..." America's eyes flickered once to where Russia disappeared then back to them.  


"Me either..." Canada mumbled, scrambling for his fork after dropping them in shock. "I mean, nothing against Russia, but... just..."  


France waved at them dismissively. "But this is a perfect opportunity, oui? The two of you are looking into rebuilding your relations together, and a little amour along the way would not harm."  


"Huh. Can't really picture myself banging that commie."  


"Al! Don't be rude... he's not even a communist anymore."  


"I'm sorry, Matt. _Ex-commie_. I can't picture myself banging that ex-commie."  


Canada sighed and shook his head. "And here I thought you would change with that restart button you presented him that time."  


America slapped his forehead. "...Yeah yeah.... you got a point there." His hands reached up to scratch at his hair, face scrunching up in thought. "But still... _Russia_?" At the name, America made a thrusting motion with his hips and Canada raised an eyebrow at the lewd gesture.  


France smirked as he leaned back on his chair, the smile on his face widening at each word. "Oh, Russia is not so bad. When I was with him before, he was _pleasant_ company." He ended with a purr.  


Curious, America opened his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by England as the island nation snorted. "Pleasant, my arse. I am surprised he could tolerate you enough to let you live." He ignored the indignant gasp from France as he pointed a fork to America's direction. "Look, it is not because I distrust Russia completely. I just do not trust him and you alone together in an unsupervised room, with the two of you loving to push each other's buttons to death."  


"...you do tend to like pissing him off, Al." Canada frowned a little. "Might want to work on that first before you try anything."  


America propped his elbows on the table, eyebrows furrowed. As much as he hated to admit it, there was truth in their words-- he could recall the times they would be at each other's throats because he'd purposely egg Russia on. America snorted inwardly. It wasn't entirely his fault most of the time-- Russia did always have a way to flip his anger switch on, with little effort and just the right words and the way he would always smugly smile at him...  


"Such dampening words you two have." France sighed dramatically, chiding them. He then reached to pat America's arm softly. "It was merely a suggestion, Alfred. Do not fret over it. There are other opportunities."  


Alfred made a noncommittal sound, shrugging as they continued with their breakfast and latched onto other subjects.  


 

  
  
He wasn't really fretting over it. Just... mulling the idea over.  
  
  


  
  
Germany's monotone voice drifted in and out of America's ear, lulling him into boredom. He was leaning to the side, one elbow propped on the table, while he drew on the edge of his paper in a languid manner. He stopped caring to take notes at the third hour, doodling random things. When that no longer held his interest, he decided to have a small break by observing the others. Or rather, a certain someone.  


Ever since that morning, his mind was still wrapping around the idea of being with Russia. In an intimate way, of course. Aside from picturing the two of them duking it out, America could actually imagine Russia and him conducting themselves in a civil manner. Perhaps working on a new space station to set into orbit. Or combining forces to take down an alien invasion. Or hell, comparing which nation had the most aggressive bears. But screwing each other under the sheets? After all this time, he hadn't even thought of it-- which he found odd since he would be assaulted with erotic daydreams of the most unlikely nations he could think of from time to time. He chalked it up to spending the time hating and being paranoid about Russia.  


America's eyes glanced around until they settled on the large nation, who was of course dutifully noting down Germany's presentation. Propping his arm up so he could place his cheek on his palm, he furrowed his brows in thought as he continued to mull over the idea of sexually propositioning Russia. He snorted lightly, as he could almost picture it going in different ways, all ending with them in a fight. Russia not trusting America. Taking in the wrong way. Rejecting America outright. Pride getting in his way and pissing off Russia further. Insults hurling. Typical crap.  


As he watched Russia frown and tap the seemingly out of ink pen against the notepad, America continued to poke at the scenarios in his head, slowly giving up on the idea as each were ending violently, with blows and kicks and guns and pipes. _Just not going to work_. He thought, still staring as Russia lifted the pen up to inspect it. _Matt's right. We're just gonna end up fighting because Russia's going to be a big fat jerk as always and shit will hit the fan. The hell man... he's not even that good look_ \--  


Russia's tongue darted out, giving a slow lick at the tip of the pen to wet it.  


\-- _kneeling. Russia looking up at him, mouth opened to take America's gun inside, tongue flicking out to lick the barrel before engulfing the weapon with a muffled moan_ \--  


Well, fuck.  


America jostled himself from his thoughts, blinking rapidly. Thankfully only England noticed him not listening during the meeting, who was mouthing to him to pay attention and jabbing at his own notes. He tossed an apologetic shrug to the older nation and was sure it looked completely insincere, but at the moment he didn't care.  


Because apparently he _could_ picture himself banging that commie.  


Ex-commie.  


 _I didn't even know I was into that kind of kink_. America rubbed his chin as he pondered over that brief image of gunplay. His eyes flickered back up, fastening them on Russia who resumed scribbling down his notes.  


America kept staring, even when Russia slowly turned his head to lock eyes with him. He made sure to hold up a poker face, having practiced the mask years ago during the Cold War era to beat the other nation in their own little games. They continued staring at each other until he felt a timid poking at his shoulder. He turned his head to his side, breaking off the stare contest and found Canada looking at him with a questioning expression on his face.  


By the time he looked back to Russia after assuring his brother that it was nothing, the other nation have turned to Germany's direction, who was now giving up the podium to England. While normally he would be groaning now at an even more boring lecture courtesy of England and attempt to interrupt the meeting with a quick ten minute break, the cogs in his brain were busy whirring and turning. He steepled his fingers as he got deeper in his thoughts, missing the worry flashing on Canada's face.  


 

  
  
  
  
When he returned to his hotel room, America found himself sitting on the sofa cushion and watching some documentary about the wilderness of Russia. His hand gently stroked his M1911 laid on his lap while the other trailed feathery touches on his bare stomach.  


 

  
  
  
  
After almost a week of nothing but conference meetings and debates, the nations have agreed for an impromptu karaoke party as a reward at the end.  


And the booze were freely passed around.  


"Ahm on.. on.. quiet. Why--ahm always.. " More slurred words and a loud hiccup. "... _bloody 'ell_.."  


America winced at the loud smack to his back as England drunkenly hung onto him, sloshing his drink on the counter. The island nation had been ranting to America about odd things, rambling into nonsense as he chugged more beer. It was amusing at first-- the bushy eyebrowed nation was at least entertaining. Now he just wanted to find someone he could shove England to... so they could keep the other occupied and away from him. Because the further England got into his drunken state, the more violent and nonsensical he become. Looking around, he saw Prussia, Spain, and France singing out of tune, so that crossed out asking France to take care of England. He spotted Canada, who was whistling and cheering loudly along with the two Italians to Germany dancing on top of a table.  


America wondered how exactly he was going to escape when suddenly England reared away from him and flung himself to the singing trio, screeching about showing them what a real song should be. The crowd roared into life, though it was mostly because England ended his statement with a rousing display of ripping off his pants and exposing his unicorn-patterned boxers.  


This gave America a chance to slip away from the main crowd, hanging around the back of the room. Leaning against the wall, he took to observing the others for once, not minding the lack of attention directed to him. Swirling the drink in his glass, his gaze flitted from once face to another until he caught someone nearby on his side.  


This time it was Russia who was staring at him. Slowly tipping the vodka bottle, the wintry nation's eyes stay glued on America even as he took a drink. America would have liked to watch his Adam's apple bob up and down but he kept his eyes fastened to Russia's own, not wanting to be the first to break the stare.  


Strangely, it was Russia who broke it off once he lowered his bottle, turning around to exit the room. America blinked, then knocked back his own drink, gulping it down fast to follow after him. He tossed one glance back at the party, who were too drunk or too busy having fun to notice them missing, before heading out.  


However, he couldn't find Russia once he was outside. He didn't think that the larger nation would be walking fast enough for America to lose him. He searched in the nearby rooms the other might have hid himself in, but no suck luck. America huffed lightly, eyes darting from side to side as he stood in the empty hallway. More than likely Russia had retired to his own room for the evening. Disappointed, he stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket, wondering what to do now . Through the inner pocket walls, one hand sought out to touch the gun strapped by his side underneath his jacket as he debated heading back to the party or spending the night by himself.  
  


  
  
  
He didn't sense anyone behind him until the smell of vodka hit him. "You are seeking me out, comrade?"  
  


  
  
  
America blinked slowly. He didn't even hear the other sneak up on him, but now he could feel his presence from behind, the scent of vodka reeking strongly from his breath. America wondered if the bottle he saw was the nation's fifteenth or twentieth drink for the night. Turning around in a nonchalant way, he was greeted with the sight of Russia's eternal serene smile. Looking up, he could tell the smile didn't reach the eyes as Russia's own pair were guarded.  


"Whatcha talkin' about?" America replied, feigning ignorance. He spread his arms around. "I just got outside for some fresh air."  


Russia chuckled softly, though his eyes held no mirth. In fact, they seemed to harden. "Is that so? I did not know that barging into rooms qualify as seeking for fresh air. One of your absurd American habits, perhaps?" His accent thickened even further as he slurred the last word.  


America allowed the little jab at him to slide for now, and focused instead on switching his tactics. He placed his hands on his hips, the motion causing the ends of the jacket to get caught further to the sides. Not by much, but an observant person would have seen a glimpse of the gun hidden underneath the jacket. And Russia is always observant, wasn't he? Though he wasn't sure if he could in his drunken state...  


Russia's eyes did a quick glance down and back up to his face. They suddenly took on a dangerous glint.  


Bingo.  


America shrugged and flashed him a taunting grin. "Alright, you caught me. You were acting pretty suspicious earlier. As a hero, I had to make sure you weren't doing shit like kicking puppies or any commie stuff." He grinned a little wider when he saw Russia stiffened at the insult. Russia always tend to get riled up rather easy when drunk, from what America had seen before during their time as heated rivals.  


America willingly backed himself up against the wall as Russia moved closer, knowing this was a bad move on his part. But it was all part of the plan. His own body tensed, anticipating either for the large hand shooting out to strangle the air out of him or the ever convenient pipe that Russia always seem to pull out of thin air. He just need Russia to make that first move and--  


His eyes widened when something cold pressed against the side of his temple. Darting his eyes to the side, he could see from his peripheral that Russia had used a gun on him instead (How did he got that out without seeing it?), the muzzle of the weapon digging into his skin.  


He felt himself twitch down below.  


"What is the matter, _Amerika_?. I am just responding to your challenge. Oh, do not look surprised. I saw what was hiding underneath this jacket of yours..." A hiccup, then a high-pitched giggle as Russia loomed even closer. The gun slid painfully down from his temple down to his cheeks before resting to the corner of America's mouth. The scent of gunpowder (the thought that Russia had recently used this sent his brain to come up with several theories as to what might have happened and a small delicious jolt to run along down his spine) wafted into his nostrils along with smell of alcohol and body musk emanating from the other nation as Russia panted softly.  


"...you think I am easy prey, just because I have been rather intimate with the vodka tonight." Russia's twisted smile stretched across his face as his eyes bored down onto America. "How naive and foolish of you... tell me, how would you be doing now, in your present condition, with-- ah, what was that earlier... making sure I am not participating in 'kicking puppies and commie stuff'?"  


America could have easily shove Russia across the hallway. Then they could have had a scuffle until it turn into a full-out fight that would leave each of them bleeding and bruising and the other nations scampering after them to break it off. At least, he was planning that, so he could have something to fuel his fantasies later. To replace the pipes and the fists with guns and more images of Russia kneeling down, defeated and licking and--  


It was in this oddly pleasurable haze brought on by the combination of the scents and the adrenaline from the danger of a crazed and drunk nation that had America turned his head slightly towards the gun (He thought he recognized it as a TT-30, which sent another jolt in him), giving it a tentative lick. Closing his eyes, he then swirled his tongue around the barrel, wetting it to easily engulfed the weapon into his mouth.  


America's ears picked up the loud hitch in the other's breath, but he continued his oral ministration on the gun, his head moving back and forth as if it were a dick and not something that could literally blow his head off. He could feel the slackening of the gun in his mouth, and his hand reached out to steady Russia's own hand that held the weapon. The other hand grasped for the nation's coat to pull towards him when Russia tried to back away. America could feel himself straining underneath his pants, and he ground himself against the other for friction when he brought their bodies that much closer. He chuckled around the gun when he heard Russia let out a shuddering breath.  


Releasing the gun with a loud and wet _pop_ , America turned his head to face him, eyes still closed. The hand that held the pistol was trembling now, and he should be a little more concerned at that. But thoughts of accidental triggers were not in his mind, even so much as letting the saliva-slicked gun slide from the corners of his mouth and down across the side of his neck, until the muzzle of the gun stopped where his neck and shoulders met.  


Only then did he open his eyes. America saw Russia staring at him with wide, confused eyes (and maybe with a hint of something else), the smile completely wiped off only to be replaced with a lost expression on his flushed face.  


America leered at him. "How about we turn this challenge up a notch, big guy..."  
  


 

  
  
  
It was Russia who darted first for his hotel room, pocketing his wet gun and dragging the young nation with him in a hurried, awkward gait. But America was able to convince Russia (" _I got lube and stuff in my room_ ") to head further back to America's own instead.  


 

  
  
  
  
The city lights shone through the clear, door-sized windows, the curtains pushed back on each ends to provide some lighting for the room, while still being dark enough for the activities being carried out on the hotel bed.  


Russia lay sprawled on the bed, spread eagle, his legs trembling as America hovered over him, stretching him open with three fingers and giving languid licks on the side of the larger nation's twitching cock. When America brushed past his prostrate teasingly, Russia moaned around America's cock and took him in further, pushing past the puckered bud with a slicked thick finger, making the blond above him hissed loudly in pleasure.  


When they had arrived earlier, America barely had time to lock the door before Russia latched onto him, all mouth and teeth and tongue and harsh pants. America responded by slamming him against the wall and pushed for dominance in the kiss, which left Russia mewling against him, surprising and thrilling the younger nation.  


He had carried Russia to his bed while the other nation wrapped his legs around him and sucking his neck with gusto. Down to bed they went, and quickly their clothes were strewn on the floor around them. Only their guns held a place on the bed with them, and a couple of condoms and bottles of lube soon followed as well.  


After sharing more heated kisses, bodies tangled with each other and grinding for that sweet delicious friction, did America finally whisper to Russia, mouth ghosting along the shell of his ear, of what he had in mind.  


Which led to them now in this position-- Russia below and America on top, both giving and receiving. America took the initiative to start prepping the other nation, with Russia following him after.  


America nuzzled his cock, panting heavily as Russia began to stretch him wide with two fingers now. He started reaching out for his gun, wrapping the gun barrel with a condom and slathered it generously with lube. With half-lidded eyes, he positioned the wrapped gun to Russia's entrance. He could hear the other patting the bed for his own weapon, but America could not wait for him. Suckling the head of Russia's cock, he eased the gun inside and just as the bud stretched to swallow the gun, so did he with his mouth as his head bobbed down to take Russia in.  


A keening sound tore from the nation below, which eventually tapered out to a long drawn out whimpering moan. America waited for a moment for him to adjust, before sliding back out and pushing the gun in all the way to its limit, careful of the trigger. He smirked around Russia's cock when he heard the other frantically patting the bed again, then closed his eyes to sync the bobbing of his head with the steady pumping of the gun.  


He soon felt Russia licking and suckling him into his mouth, the pressure of something large against his entrance, rubbing in a teasing manner before it pushed in. Stopping on what he was doing, America released him to cry out as the gun kept pushing until it could only go so far. Panting, he concentrated on his body adjusting to the gun in him before swallowing Russia again. His hand quickly pushed his pistol back into Russia's in a renewed, increased vigor. It was a clear "go" signal for Russia, slightly withdrawing his own pistol only to thrust it back in a brutal pace.  


Sounds of muffled moans and shuddering grunts along with the wet squelch of slicked weapons pistoning in and out and the squeaking of the bed filled the air. The sounds served to edge them closer as their senses were overloaded by the wet heat engulfing their cocks and the guns surging into them, the added thrill of how dangerous this could be if one would accidentally let a finger slip...  


Russia's body bucked up hard, shoving his whole length as much as he can into the young nation's mouth as America began to fuck Russia's head further down into the mattress. They were barely aware of distant, muffled sounds outside the hotel room as the guns thrusted in rapidly, the tip of the barrels relentlessly prodding each other's prostate. Russia's free hand reached around to rake America's back, leaving bleeding welts in its trail as he allowed America to push his cock further into his abused mouth, swollen lips wrapped around the member tightly. While on the other end, America sucked Russia hard like he would on an almost empty shake, milking him for all his worth. The one arm propping him up wobbled, straining to keep him up while his hand twisted the bedsheets. The other hand continued its thrusting of the gun it held, shoving the pistol as deep as he can.  


Their moaning reached higher in pitch and volume, getting closer to their release. They know they just need a little bit more. _Just a little more_ and--  


**_BANG!_ **  
  
  


 

 

  
  
France's eyes bugged out comically then slowly turned his head to eye the bullet hole on the wall that barely missed his head.  


England frowned and eyed the gun in his hand while the other hand held a dangling cigarette, eyes blinking. "Oi... this not my lighter. _Hic_! It'sa bloody gun!" He looked up in exasperation. "Kinna bloke have a fag?!"  


Canada giggled creepily as England dejectedly draped himself over him. France swooned a little as he lifted himself off from the wall, then helped carried the island nation from the other end. The drunken trio then resumed their merry singing, stumbling along in the hallway towards their room.  
  
  


 

 

  
  
America's release slammed into him as soon as he heard the gunshot. He would have made a sound, but Russia followed after, spilling up into his mouth and all he could do was try to catch it and swallow.  


While he would like to bask in the afterglow, his mind was quickly catching up to the fact there was a gun go off.  


America thought it was him who got shot. His body stiffened when he felt Russia's gun slid out from him. But he felt no pain, aside from the usual soreness down below. With a thundering heart, America released the now limp cock from his mouth and gazed down at the gun still lodged in Russia's ass. Slowly removing it, he finally calmed down when he noticed no blood was leaking out from Russia.  


"America... am I bleeding?" Russia hesitantly called out from the other end. America lifted himself off from him and shifted to face him, one hand reaching towards his own behind to confirm nothing worse happened back there.  


"No... I ain't bleeding, right?"  


" _Nyet_." Russia shook his head lightly, still staring at the ceiling, obviously having some difficulty disengaging himself from the sexual high to confront the fear of getting shot.  


Or the fact that they had _gotten off_ on a gunshot. But America suspected it maybe just him who's overthinking that.  


America plopped himself down, joining Russia in staring up at the ceiling. His ears couldn't pick up any other sound, though there was a very faint drunken screeching and hollering from outside, on what he could only assume some people down in the hallway already moving away.  


"I think it was from outside." America piped up, keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling. "Drunks, prolly."  


There was a very long pause before Russia responded. "Ah. Our party with the bad singing."  


Having been jarred from their orgasm, America was not prepared for the awkward silence that ensued after. He risked a glance to Russia, who still continued to gaze upwards. Idly scratching his belly, America's body suddenly shivered due to the cold seeping into his skin.  


He slowly got up to retrieve his gun and the bottles of lube, placing them on his bedside table. He then tugged the blankets up to cover himself from the cold, too exhausted to clean up.  


Russia suddenly sat up, his back showing to America, and was about to lift himself off when America grabbed ahold onto his arm.  


"Stay."  


The word spilled out from his mouth before he could even process it in his mind. Russia slowly turned his head to look at America over his shoulder, an unreadable expression on his face. America tried to appear nonchalant as he shrugged, slipping his arm back under the covers and closing his eyes, willing his cheeks to not turn red, despite the darkness in the room. "You don't wanna get out with them drunks out. You might forget to take out the condom from your gun if you tried to shoot them."  


A deep chuckle was all he got, then the weight disappeared all together from the other side of the bed. America ignore the slight tightening in his chest, and focused on getting some sleep.  


After some time, he felt the bed dip again, and his eyes snapped open when there was something wet against his forehead. It was Russia, already slipping under the covers, offering him a damp cloth.  


"Clean up. It will be a discomfort if you wait until tomorrow. Not to mention disgusting."  


America was a little too shocked to retort, taking the cloth silently and using it to clean himself up. When he was done and the cloth was tossed to the floor, he then snorted and scooted a little closer to him.  


"You swallowed my jizz. You can't talk about disgusting."  


Russia turned to his side, draping one leg over America as he inched towards to him. "You are correct, for once. It was rather disgusting, the taste of it."  


America yawned, curling up to Russia, while he half-heartedly smack the other's arm. "Hey, I'll have you know my jizz is 100% awesome and delicious." He let his hand stay on the other's arm.  


Russia sleepily chuckled into America's hair. "Hmmm... that would imply you have tasted your own seed before, does it not?"  


"...shut up."  
  


 

  
  
  
They were still in each other's arms the next morning.  
  
  


 

  
  
Two months later, and there was another summit meeting, this time in Moscow. They were now in their lunch break, and America was busy shoveling food into his mouth while he was around the company of his brothers in the break room.  


"Did anyone else notice something different with Russia today? He looked.. distracted." Canada mumbled before eating a spoonful of his meal.  


"Yes, he was looking rather flushed today. It likely has something to do with that crazy sister of his." England muttered while he flicked America's cheek. "Oi, slow down."  


France shook his head, tapping his chin. "Perhaps it is something else entirely? I just cannot help think that his expression looks oh so familiar..."  


"What do you mean by that?" Canada blinked, the spoon pausing just inches from his mouth.  


"I should let you know that I have seen these 'flushed' faces many, _many_ times..." France said, dropping his voice down to a seductive tone.  


England wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes, catching on. "Oh for the love of..."    


"...But I believe," France continued, ignoring him. "That face belongs to someone who is not only distracted, but one who is experiencing... _pleasure_!"  


"What a _surprise_!" England exclaimed in a mocking tone. "What is next? Are you going to tell us he has something up his bum? Is that why his face was so red?"  


America gulped down his food and took this opportunity to pipe up. "Yeah, he does! It's a vibrator, y'see... actually, it's kinda like a butt plug slash vibrator thingamajig. That way there's no way it'll drop! We got it online-- one for him and one for me. We had to figure out who's going to try it first, so we did rocks, paper, scissors. Of course, I definitely won that because I'm a hero. So! He got to wear them today in the meeting and it wasn't really that bad for him, since he's sitting down all nice and gentle and ignores it and you know Russia-- that dude lives in a frickin' icebox and used to the cold there so you _know_ he can ignore shit real good but I'm like 'Haha! Gotcha bitch!' and turned up the setting real high for the whole meeting. Y'know, kinda get him all horny and riled up and grrrr sexy angry Russia and... and..."  


America trailed off from his babbling as the three gaped at him. The silence from them stretched on too long for America and he snapped his fingers at them. "Uh.. guys?"  


Surprisingly, it was Canada who blurted out a loud "WHAT?!?" that got attention from other nations and staff eating nearby. It took a moment for them to calm down and for the others to stop paying attention before they continued with the discussion.  


"You're seeing _Russia_?" Canada asked him in a harsh whisper.  


"He has _what_ in him?" France was almost salivating as he leaned closed over the table.  


Only England was not saying anything at all, still gaping at him with the color drained from his face.  


Just then, an ominous aura descended upon the break room. All nations whipped their heads to see an eerily smiling Russia trudging along, making a beeline across the room to the other side, towards the direction of the building offices, possibly on his way to his very own.  


"Welp, that's my signal." America finished off the rest of his meal and began to stand up.  


"Signal for what?" Canada weakly asked, though he had a sneaking suspicion on what it was.  


"Oh, it's time for me to get in Russia's office, bend him over, and fuck him senseless like there's no tomorrow." America grinned widely. Which was jarring with what he had just said as it is also the same grin he would wear when he talks about his plans for robots in space to save the world or his favorite movie stars.  


Canada facepalmed. "Uh... I didn't need to know ALL of that."  


"You must tell me the details later! You must!" France waved at the retreating form of America, wiping off a drool from the corner of his mouth.  


England was still gaping at the spot where America was. Canada and France eventually shared a look.  


Sighing, Canada rose up and moved to where England is. "All right, I'll go check to make sure his gun's not with him before we go drinking later..."

**Author's Note:**

> (( This was my first smut fic back then. I'm still holding my head in embarrassment here. But anything for an old friend. It is rather tempting to do a sequel for this, though it won't be about gunplay... I don't know. I guess we'll see. ))


End file.
